


The Joys of Baking

by perhael



Category: Pundit RPF, Pundit RPF (US)
Genre: Bondage, Established Relationship, Hanukkah, M/M, Mild D/s, PWP, Wifeless AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-31
Updated: 2010-08-31
Packaged: 2017-10-11 09:05:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perhael/pseuds/perhael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon attemtps to bake latkes, but Stephen has other plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Joys of Baking

Jon hummed cheerfully to himself as he bustled around the kitchen, gathering ingredients and getting out the rarely-used food processor and frying pan. Baking wasn't his greatest hobby, but he always found it helped him relax. And after the week from hell at work (a stomach bug going around had felled half his writing staff), he was in dire need of some stress-relief. Besides, Stephen had a thing for Jon's baking, and Stephen could be very… _persuasive_. Jon found himself grinning as his mind drifted back to the powers of persuasion Stephen had employed on him last night. Another form of stress-relief he enjoyed.

The sound of the front door opening and closing followed by a call of "Honey, I'm hooome!" jolted him out of his little fantasy.

"In the kitchen," Jon called back, smiling. Moments later Stephen walked in, shrugging off his jacket and loosening his tie.

"I dropped by your office on my way home, but they told me you'd already gone. DJ says hi, by the way." His face lit up when he spotted the frying pan. "You're making latkes?".

"Yeah. They _are_ customary this time of year, after all," Jon replied casually, though they both knew he could care less about Hanukkah traditions. The only reason he was making latkes at all was because Stephen had asked for them specifically.

"Mmm," Stephen hummed happily, draping his jacket over the back of a kitchen chair. "I love your crazy Jewish holidays. Especially the food," he added, wrapping his arms around Jon from behind.

"I live to please," Jon said sarcastically, but he leaned back into Stephen's embrace.

He felt something change in the other man's posture, the touch of his hands suddenly possessive. Then Stephen's breath was hot on his neck, his voice low and husky. "Do you, now? Hmmm… hands behind your back."

"Stephen, I'm…" Jon gestured helplessly at the baking paraphernalia set out on the counter.

"Shhh. No protests. Hands behind your back."

Jon felt a thrill run all the way down his spine. It was play time. Obediently, he folded his hands behind his back, where Stephen wasted no time tying his wrists together with his silk necktie. It wasn't a tight knot, and Jon could have wriggled his way out of it easily if he'd wanted to. The tie wasn't there to physically restrain him—it was there to remind him of the fact that Stephen wanted him restrained, and as long as Stephen wanted him that way, he knew he would stay.

"Good," Stephen murmured, placing a kiss just below Jon's ear. "Very good. You stand right here, I'll bake. Tell me what to do."

"The instructions are right there on the counter, I printed them out," Jon protested, but he trailed off in the face of Stephen's disapproving glare. "You, ah, start by peeling and quarting the apples," he amended, feeling a little sheepish.

Stephen made to start with the apples, then paused, surveying the selection of ingredients before him.

"How am I going to make potato pancakes without the potatoes?" he asked, turning around with a frown.

Jon couldn't help but grin at that, even though he knew it would earn him another one of Stephen's glares. "They're apple cinnamon latkes, Stephen. No potatoes involved."

Stephen hmphed a little, but made no further comment. It was common knowledge that Stephen had a sweet tooth a mile wide, and Jon had selected the recipe especially with this in mind.

Jon shifted a little, grateful he was wearing sweatpants. Having Stephen tie him up was an incredible turn-on, and his cock was already at half-mast.

They didn't do this often, and when they did, it was always Stephen who initiated it. Jon wouldn't dream of bringing it up—not knowing the when and where of it just made it that much more exciting.

"Peeled and quarted," Stephen announced. "Now what?"

"Um, now you just chuck it all in the food processor."

"What, everything?"

"Yeah. Apples, eggs, sugar, salt, cinnamon… everything. You'll have to check the recipe for measurements, I didn't memorize them."

Stephen picked up the recipe, frowning. "Says here I need to add the apples later."

"Really?" Jon couldn't stop himself from blushing, though he felt it was a really stupid thing to blush over. "Um. You should probably do what it says."

Stephen sighed the sigh of the long-suffering. "What kind of Jew are you, Jon, that you could mess up a recipe for latkes?"

"A non-practicing one?" Jon replied archly, barely able to refrain from rolling his eyes. He'd noticed early on in their relationship that whenever they did this… thing, whatever it was (they'd never bothered to put a name to it. Privately, Jon thought of it as 'play time'), Stephen tended to slip into his on-air character. Not all the way, just enough to take on a little of the arrogance and impatience of his fictional counterpart. Not that Jon minded—in fact, he was amazed at how big a turn-on it was.

Stephen grinned. "Obviously. Now…" he said, turning away from the counter and dropping to his knees, "I think it's time for a snack."

"I… what… Stephen, I thought you wanted to make latkes!"

"First things first, Jon. Those things will take a while, and I'm feeling peckish."

Insistent hands pushed down his sweatpants and boxer shorts, and then Stephen was holding Jon's erection in his right hand and wrapping his lips around the head, his left hand coming up to fondle Jon's balls.

Jon let out a yelp. "Oh god, Stephen…" he gasped.

Stephen looked up smugly from under his lashes, deliberately taking Jon deeper into his mouth. Jon ached to put his hands on Stephen's shoulders, or wrap them in his hair, to hold onto him as Stephen sucked him eagerly. But every time he tried to move his hands the tie was there, binding him, reminding him of Stephen's whispered command.

Stephen was way, way too good at this, Jon thought fleetingly as his knees started to tremble and his head slumped back of its own accord, his body's entire focus being pulled to his cock. Stephen's tongue ought to be illegal, and then there was a sharp tug on his balls and… oh god. Oh g—

He came with a harsh cry of "Stephen!", knees buckling as he sank to the floor, bare ass hitting the cold kitchen tiles. By the time he had his breath back, Stephen was busy mixing ingredients and reading aloud from the age-old family recipe Jon had pulled off the internet just that morning.

"Okay, cinnamon… nutmeg… in you go. Pinch of salt…"

"Um, Stephen?"

"Yes, Jon?"

"Do you think you could give me a hand up?"

Stephen pretended to think about for a while, then simply said, "Nope."

Jon sighed. He took stock of himself: slumped on the floor with his pants around his ankles, spent cock hanging limply between his legs, arms tied behind his back. Getting up unaided didn't seem like something he necessarily wanted to try. Glancing down at his exposed legs and genitals, Jon thought wryly that at least there was no sticky mess to deal with—Stephen had had the presence of mind to swallow.

"Apples, there you go… flour… hey, this is pretty easy!"

"Wait until you have them in the pan," Jon muttered. "Fuckers burn easy."

"Hush, Jon. Don't be negative," Stephen admonished.

He was enjoying this, Jon could tell. And despite the fact that he was cold and exposed and vulnerable (or perhaps because of it, a little voice in the back of his head offered), Jon was enjoying himself, too. Though 'enjoyment' was probably too weak a word to describe the feeling of contentment mixed with low-key excitement thrumming in his veins.

Jon needed these little moments of zen every once in a while. At work he was the boss, responsible not only for his own welfare but also for that of his people. He regarded them as a second family, just as crazy and dysfunctional as his blood relatives, but somehow less maddening. He was protective, supportive, always ready with words of praise and comfort, and his staff loved him for it. He wouldn't have it any other way, didn't know how to be anything but who and what he was, but it could take a lot out of a person to be that involved. Every now and then he needed to recharge, needed to let go of all responsibility and give himself over to the one man he trusted to keep him safe and happy.

"Jon?"

Stephen was kneeling in front of him, thumb stroking Jon's cheek.

"Mhmm?"

"Latkes are done, baby."

Jon shook himself. "Done? Like, for real done? Wow, I must've zoned out."

"Blissed out, more like," Stephen smirked. "'S cause I know how to treat you right." His voice turned tender then, all traces of 'Stephen' gone. "'C'mon buddy, let's get you up."

Jon stood on shaky legs, still feeling a little out of it, while Stephen supported him with one hand and used the other to pull Jon's pants and boxers up. Then he untied Jon's hands.

"Thanks," Jon said quietly. "I mean it. Thank you."

Stephen grabbed him by the back of the head and kissed him deeply, then pulled back and grinned. "Happy Hanukkah, baby. Now sit your ass at the table, it's latke time!"

**Author's Note:**

> A recipe for apple cinnamon latkes can be found [here](http://www.jewishrecipes.org/recipes/latkes/apple-cinnamon-latkes.html).


End file.
